


The More You Know

by F1DEL1US, noseriouslythisis



Series: Not everyone can be a goalie [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boys being clueless, M/M, Pining, Stickhandling 101, There will always be pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F1DEL1US/pseuds/F1DEL1US, https://archiveofourown.org/users/noseriouslythisis/pseuds/noseriouslythisis
Summary: “Can I help you?” What? He’s polite.The stranger speaks up. “I like you.”Uhhhh.Alright. So. Mitch is not always interested in being polite (or heterosexual). So he says: “Well, you can leave, then.”





	The More You Know

**Author's Note:**

> Because we just couldn't have enough of boys being boys aka completely clueless.

The first thing he does after he realizes he is well and truly fucked is have his breakfast. Because:

 

> 1\. They were in the middle of having it and getting up and running away like the hounds of hell are chasing him would be suspicious,  _ even for him _ . 
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. If he’s going to freak out and  _ then _ figure out what the fuck is going on, he needs the energy. 
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. As terrifying as the realization is, he  _ really _ is comfortable with the position he is currently in, Auston’s arm wrapped around the back of his chair, his warmth (they didn’t call him the  _ sunbelt _ miracle for nothing) seeping into his constantly cold skin, as their team chirped the ginger situation about  _ being _ a situation because supportive teammates they might be but this is too good an opportunity to pass up. 

 

So yeah. He has his breakfast, makes his excuses, and then books it to Marty’s room who had had a pretty tough game and hence got the pass to sleep in. 

 

“Marty?” he yells as he knocks on the door. “Marty. Open up!”

 

There’s a sound of something being knocked over, and a muffled  _ god fucking dammit _ before the door is opened by a murderous looking 6 foot 3 giant of a man that would have sent anyone else but Mitch running. 

 

As it were, all Matt gets is an eyeroll and a firm shove before Mitch marches into the room. 

 

“I am in trouble,” Mitch says, planting himself on the unmade bed and crushing any hopes Matt might have had of getting rid of him quickly and going back to his beauty sleep. 

 

Matt glances at his phone and sighs, “It’s not even nine in the morning, Marns.”

 

“It’s never too early to realize you are in love with your best friend,” Mitch replies wisely as he plants his face into his own hands, and quiety, but not quietly enough that Matt can’t overhear, whispering “ _ I’m fucked. So fucked.”  _ to himself. 

 

“Oh,” Matt says for a lack of reply and takes a seat next to Mitch. Placing a hand on Mitch’s neck, he hesitates before saying, “I’m sorry bud, but you know I love Syd and...”

 

Mitch lifts up his face from his hands and stares straight at Matt so that he can get the full affect of his eye-roll before saying, “My  _ other _ best friend.”

 

“ _ Oh,”  _ comes the oh so eloquent reply again. And another pause. And then, “Just to be sure, we are talking about Matts here, right?”

 

“Oh my fucking god,” Mitch whispers, exasperated. 

 

“Hey! It’s not my fault you are a friendship ho,” Matt replies, equally exasperated before muttering, “...and that you woke me up and are putting me through this excruciating conversation before I even had my morning coffee.”

 

“You are the  _ worst _ best friend ever,” Mitch replies petulantly before falling back on the bed, sighing. “What am I gonna do, Marty?”

 

“I dunno...tell him?” Matt replies and gets a pillow thrown at his head for his efforts. 

 

“I can’t just...just  _ tell him _ !” Mitch replies, horrified. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? It would make it  _ so  _ awkward. I mean, just because it worked out for Freddie and Brownie doesn’t mean...”

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, Freddie and  _ Brownie _ ? What the fuck?” Matt interrupts, having missed the entirety of the spectacle that had been the previous night and the early morning breakfast. 

 

“Oh yeah. Our resident gingers are fucking,” Mitch says, as if that explains everything ( _ Spoiler alert: It does not. ) _ but the reaction Matt has is comically similar to the one Mo had had, which is to hit said messenger.

 

“Ouch. Hey, you asked!”

 

“ _ Fuck. I need coffee,”  _ Matt mutters for the thousandth time, and Mitch realizes (or  _ thinks _ he realizes) what he has to do. 

 

“Okay.  _ Okay _ ,” he says, getting up from the bed. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to go get a coffee and forget we ever had this conversation,” “But Marns, we need to...” “I am going to go grab a shower and forget I ever had the thought in the first place,” “I don’t think that’s how...” “and everything can go back to as it was. Brilliant. Awesome. I am a genius.”

 

Before Matt can say anything else, Mitch storms out of the room. 

 

Matt, for his part, grabs a pillow, squishes his face into it and screams out his frustration at whatever fates had to align to get him into  _ this _ particular situation.

 

\-----

 

About two weeks after his incredibly inconvenient realisation, Mitch finds himself at a club with about half his team, which suits him quite well. Denial could only go so far when you’re confronted with your crush every day, in close proximity, often not exactly clothed. He wasn’t Mo. So, distraction it was. 

 

The first thing he notices when they walk through the door was that it was quite...colourful. They were on the road, not exactly in a big hockey market, and they had driven outside the city. He was beginning to understand why. Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a big surprise to him. Almost half the team was dating each other, conveniently part of the half that had come with them. Still. A fucking gay bar. 

 

Not somewhere Mitch had been with teammates before (Stromer  _ so  _ didn’t count).

 

Sighing, he goes to the bar with Naz (always the designated driver. He said he didn’t mind. Mitch still kinda felt bad for him. He wouldn’t want to deal with his teammates sober all of the time) and Gards while the rest found a booth. 

 

Soon, they have a tray filled with all the usual orders: Stout for Freddie, assortment of beers, some cocktails, whatever the most colourful and sweet thing was on the menu for Mitch, soda for Naz, cosmo for Mo, Martini for Gards because he thinks he’s fancy, plus some fluorescent shots. Before they can pick up their trays to return to their friends, however, Mitch suddenly has someone very tall and bearded in front of him. 

 

“Can I help you?” What? He’s polite. 

 

The stranger speaks up. “I like you.” 

 

_ Uhhhh. _

 

Alright. So. Mitch is not  _ always  _ interested in being polite (or heterosexual). So he says: “Well, you can leave, then.” 

 

Incomprehension. 

 

“ _ Why?” _ He actually sounds confused. 

 

Mitch can hear Gards choking on air, and Naz is shaking in a way that indicates laughter. Great. 

 

“Because I’m not interested.” There, that should work… 

 

“You’re not  _ that _ hot.” With that parting shot, the stranger turns away and leaves. 

 

_ Oh my god. _

 

Mitch is now laughing just as hard as Gards and Naz are, much to the confusion of the stranger who had turned back to check if he was hearing right.

 

They take a few minutes to compose themselves. Then, Mitch says: “Oh my god, can he be more cliché? I feel like I’ve heard that exact dialogue so many times before.” 

 

Still laughing, he turns to the booth...and, shit. Auston is there, looking like he bit into a lemon. 

 

Staring at the retreating stranger like he’d quite like to  _ set him on fire. _ Um.

 

“Hi, Matts. How’s it going?”  _ Smooth.  _

 

No answer. Great. 

 

He’s about to brush it off as nerves at being at a gay bar as a potential straight person (because Mitch doesn’t make assumptions about sexuality. That would be  _ rude _ ), but then he has a horrific realization. 

 

He’s  _ here _ . At a gay bar. And he’s comfortable. There will be question. There might be assumptions. Did he...could he have...he’s not smart enough to connect all the dots, is he?

 

“You should tell him,” Naz whispers, pulling him out of his panicked thoughts. The rest of them have moved on, and are well on their way to getting buzzed. Even Auston was sipping on the shots, grumpy as he was. 

 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Mitch replies, picking up the first drink he can get his hands on and downing it before coughing up a lung. 

 

Naz, the little shit that he is, is laughing up a storm, but does not fail to lean closer and whisper, “Buddy, you’re so fucked.”

 

\-----

 

There are two things he hates in life:

 

> 1\. Early morning  _ anything _
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. Hangovers

 

“Goooood Morning,” Naz sings, boarding the flight, loud enough to be heard in  _ fucking Toronto _ , the bastard. Mitch mentally corrects his hate-list to  _ three _ things. 

 

He sees Auston walk in behind Naz and is about to offer him the window seat next to him, as it their habit, but Auston gives him a quick glance before moving Naz who’s about to take a seat and taking  _ that  _ window seat instead. 

 

Four.  _ Mitch hates not knowing what the hell is up _ . 

 

\-----

 

He lets it go for a day because he doesn’t like jumping to conclusions, hates when people do it to him (yes,  _ yes _ , he understands the list is not quite as short as he might have mentioned), but when Auston texts him the next morning saying he’ll drive himself to the arena (since  _ fucking when? _ Auston whines about having to drive more than Marty does about his hair, and  _ he _ whines a  _ lot _ ) he decides enough’s enough. 

 

So the first order of business when practice ends is to grab Auston’s hand and tug him away to a training room and locking the door. 

 

“Spill it,” Mitch says, hands on hips which he hopes conveys to Auston that he means business. 

 

“I don’t know what...” Auston starts, and Mitch hits him over the head. 

 

“You’re being weird as fuck since that night at the bar.  _ Spill _ .”

 

“Is it because I’m gay?” Mitch asks matter of factly. 

 

“ _ No! _ ” comes the prompt, horrified reply. “I didn’t even know that, I mean, I suspected, but  _ no.” _

 

“Then what the fuck is going on?”

 

And with that, the dam breaks. 

 

“I  _ like  _ you, Mitchy,” and if Mitch wasn’t shellshocked at that revelation he might have laughed at the petulant tone Auston is using. “I  _ like like  _ you. And I understand how awkward this is. I realize this might be a shock, and it’s completely on me. So you don’t have to feel like you have to say something because you really don’t. It is what it is, you know? I don’t...”

 

“Aus,” Mitch yells, hitting Auston on the arm for good measure to break off his rant. 

 

“Ow!” Auston gumbles. 

 

“I am going to kiss you now,” Mitch says, not giving Auston time to start his idiotic word-vomit again. 

 

Auston eyes go wide in surprise. “I...wha...I...okay?” 

 

Mitch smiles and leans in, and they get lost in the kiss for a while, until...

 

“What the fuck?” Auston whispers furiously. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

 

“Sorry, it’s just...that whole exchange was so surreal. And  _ you! _ I pine after you for a few weeks and all it took was for you to get jealous!” 

 

Auston…alright, Mitch hadn’t known Auston could blush.  _ The more you know _ . 

 

And then, he decides to cut off the no doubt irritated and/or idiotic answer that’s about to come out of Auston’s mouth by putting it to a better use

 

Talking could wait. Kissing, really, is a much better idea. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos makes us write faster, even if we do end up getting carpel tunnel because of it.


End file.
